ON The Rocks (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 3) (Redemption Thriller Series 15) Read online

  ON The Rocks

  An Ozzie Novak Thriller

  Book 3

  Redemption Thriller Series - 15

  (Includes Alex Troutt Thrillers, Ivy Nash Thrillers,

  and Ozzie Novak Thrillers)

  By

  John W. Mefford

  ALSO BY JOHN W. MEFFORD

  Redemption Thriller Series

  The Alex Troutt Thrillers

  AT Bay (Book 1)

  AT Large (Book 2)

  AT Once (Book 3)

  AT Dawn (Book 4)

  AT Dusk (Book 5)

  AT Last (Book 6)

  The Ivy Nash Thrillers

  IN Defiance (Book 7)

  IN Pursuit (Book 8)

  IN Doubt (Book 9)

  Break IN (Book 10)

  IN Control (Book 11)

  IN The End (Book 12)

  The Ozzie Novak Thrillers

  ON Edge (Book 13)

  Game ON (Book 14)

  ON The Rocks (Book 15)

  Shame ON You (Book 16)

  ON Fire (Book 17)

  ON The Run (Book 18)

  1

  Crouching under a car that was jacked up on a lift, I hobbled over a spare tire and almost face-planted on the concrete floor. And this was all just to get from my office at the northeast corner of Gartner Automotive to the other side of the garage.

  I was beginning to wonder if I should just go with the flow and call my new business venture “Grease Monkey Investigative Services.”

  I heard a laugh—more like the braying of a donkey—and turned to see Steve Gartner, owner of the repair shop, approaching me. Wiping his filthy hands on a shop towel, he said, “Nice moves, Ozzie.”

  “Very funny. I’m gonna kill myself walking through here one of these days. You got some tissues?”

  “Don’t tell me—you got a lady crying in your office, right?” He snapped his fingers. “I know I’m right. And she wants you to catch her evil, cheating husband in the act of adul-ter-y. Am I right?”

  I rolled my eyes. As much as I tried to avoid them, that was pretty much the only clientele who entered the PI office on the other side of the repair shop. I wiggled my fingers at him. “Tissues?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let me look.” We walked into his office, and he began rummaging around. The space was filled with miscellaneous tools, car parts, magazines, receipts, food containers, notepads. Oh, and let’s not forget Steve’s creepy stuffed cat named Hermit. A tissue was probably the only thing Steve didn’t have in his office.

  Just like his brother, Ray.

  Ray, of Ray Gartner Private Investigation Services, had skipped town a few weeks back after being beaten to a pulp—including having half his ear bitten off. Ray had been doing some work for me at the time and believed there was only one option for him to stay alive. He was running for the border, going off the grid forever. He’d suggested I do the same. I had no intention of leaving my hometown of Austin. He told me I was nuts, handed me the keys to his office, and said I could have it all.

  “All” was a PI business whose clientele seemed to have captured the market for cheating husbands and wives. Not my specialty—I was a lawyer by trade—but my life had changed so much in such a short amount of time…well, this PI business was something I was seriously considering. Though not without much trepidation.

  “Got to have some tissues in here somewhere.” Rummage, rummage, rummage. “So, how’s things going?”

  I wasn’t in the mood to carry on a conversation. Steve was a good guy, but he could be annoying as hell at times. Plus, the mix of sweat, grime, dust, and motor oil was getting to me. Looking back out over the garage space, I nestled my nose in the crook of my arm.

  “Cat got your tongue, Ozzie?” He did that braying noise again.

  I didn’t even bother to look. I knew he was pointing at that damn stuffed cat.

  Ever since I’d returned from my own sabbatical—which involved a harried race across the country to locate a daughter I never knew I had—Steve had been cracking jokes, sometimes at my expense. It was all in fun, though. He was just happy that someone was around to handle the constant requests for Ray’s services.

  “Okay, so, no tissues?”

  “Let me check one more place.” He opened the bottom drawer of a rusty filing cabinet. “Aha! I knew I had some.” He pulled out a roll of toilet paper and tossed it in my direction.

  My client would be so impressed.

  2

  “Sorry about the delay.” I tore off four sheets of toilet paper and handed them to the somber woman sitting in front of the desk that I could barely get to. By pure luck, I managed to get to the chair behind my desk without tripping or knocking over something.

  Rosie Alvarado didn’t seem thrown off by the toilet paper, which shocked the hell out of me. Instead, she grabbed the wad and honked as she blew her nose. I held back a smirk, only because it was the last thing I’d expected. She was petite, and her honk was…well, larger than petite.

  She dropped her hands to her lap. “I’m not sure where I left off.” She sighed as though it was her last breath. Her despair was obvious.

  I could only nod. Which was of no help whatsoever. Despite her apparent despair, she was lovely. Of course, I couldn’t put her in the same league as Nicole, who was, at least in my mind, a ten—philanderer be damned.

  I don’t know what it was exactly about this woman; she didn’t come across as “aware” of her beauty. She didn’t flaunt it, snap it. But the aura coming off her was impossible not to notice.

  I was married—more or less—but I wasn’t blind. Partially deaf, yes, but not blind. And I still had my other senses. My instincts, for one.

  I’d grown weary of sitting in this same office, hearing spouses tell me all about the lies, the cheating, the excuses, the blame game. And the hate. It was the hate that made me cringe. I’d been living it myself recently. Hearing another version of the same story was like having acid reflux—it just burned more on the second time down. But there was something different about Rosie.

  I finally prompted her. “Your husband, Earl. He’s been less attentive than usual, which wasn’t much to begin with, and you’ve been thinking about that. You remembered some, uh, signs, or things you thought might be signs.”

  She lowered her eyelids and shrugged. “More a sense than anything.” A pause and then a sputtering breath. “A woman knows!” She put her head in her hands and wept.

  I hated to see her, anyone, go through this turmoil. And it only stirred my emotions that much more. The last thing I wanted was to think of Nicole and what she’d done to me, our marriage.

  Rosie Alvarado had to be no more than thirty, just a couple of years north of my age. Her husband, from what I’d seen from his image plastered on the large billboards with his namesake business, Earl’s Truck Stop, had to be pushing seventy, if not more. I put my fingers on my tablet keyboard and thought about typing in a couple of notes. The only words that came to mind—and I’m not exactly proud of this—were “sugar daddy” and “gold digger.”

  Yet, she seemed nothing like that.

  How had she come to meet and marry Earl? Stranger things have happened, I suppose.

  “I’m sure this is tough for you, Rosie. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here to listen.” There. I’d given my standard Ozzie Novak response, the one I’d uttered dozens of times during my life as an attorney working for Novak and Novak. No, I wasn’t rich. The firm had been dissolved, and I eventually realized I wasn’t fond of the profession anyway. In many respects, my entire
life needed a reboot. My incredible newfound daughter, Mackenzie, was now my top priority. But I had to pay the bills, particularly since we lived separately from my wife, Nicole—the one who’d trashed our marriage. Okay, I knew I wasn’t a perfect person, probably had my own set of issues, but she’d been my rock for so long. Until she wasn’t.

  I almost wanted to hold up a hand to Rosie and spend about twenty seconds summarizing her story, just so I wouldn’t be forced to listen to every granular detail. But then she looked up at me with her pleading chocolate eyes: “Will you help me?”

  Well, how could I say no to that? But I held back. “You’re going to have to tell me more, Rosie. I know it’s hard, but it’s not really a matter of if I want to help you, but can I help you.”

  “Yes, of course.” She swallowed hard. “Earl saved me from an abusive relationship.”

  “How so?”

  “Can we— Is it important that I go into every single detail?”

  It wasn’t. Not yet.

  Leaning my elbows on the desk, I said, “No, of course not. I only need information that will help you accomplish…to help you move on.”

  She swallowed and became silent, her eyes falling into a catatonic state. She had this mole on the side of her cheek, which was adorable.

  “Rosie, you okay? Can I get you—” I stopped short. What the hell was I thinking? I had no beverages to offer her. This office needed a serious facelift. “So, Rosie, what exactly do you want me to do?”

  She cleared her throat. “My ex, Billy, was abusive…in many ways. He always told me how stupid I was.” She was focused on this Billy person for some reason. I figured trauma reared its ugly head in many ways.

  “Sounds like a real asshole.”

  She looked up at me, her eyes filled with tears. She giggled and then covered her mouth. “Not funny, but it is. Yes, he was an asshole, Mr. Novak. But I apologize. I seem to be dwelling on things from the past, and I’m not being very helpful as a result. May I start again?”

  “Of course, and please know, I understand. Go on.” Helpful Ozzie.

  She coughed into her hand and then pursed her lips. “Okay, so when I met Earl, I was in the hospitality industry.”

  Running my fingers through my thick blond hair, I could feel my brow furrow. Hospitality industry? I was almost afraid to ask. No way this heartbroken woman could be…like, an escort? I swiveled my chair around as I considered her words. In doing so, I spotted a piece of paper taped to the lone filing cabinet. It was a sketch that Mackenzie had drawn. And it wasn’t your typical fourth-grader drawing. She had serious skills. This was a simple—her term, not mine—sketch of a dog jumping into a lake. Mackenzie loved the water, just like her father—me. I treasured every single one of those similarities between us, and even the dissimilarities too. Those would remind me of her late mother and of all the ancestors behind us, whose genes contributed to that unique little person who was my daughter.

  As I swung my chair back around to face Rosie, I accidentally kicked over a two-foot stack of Ray’s old magazines—all Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issues. I bent down, wrestled them back into a messy pile, and then sat up straight in the chair again.

  Focus, Oz. “So, you work for a hotel, or what exactly?”

  “Food services.” She curled a lock of her hair around her ear. “Okay, basically, I was a waitress.” Her olive skin became flush.

  I nodded. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “No, there is not.” She lifted her chin. “I come from a humble family. We didn’t have much, other than our pride and support of each other. I am their prize child, the one most likely to succeed. And I have done nothing but fail.” She dropped her head.

  My protective nature kicked in. “Way too hard on yourself, Rosie. We make choices, though some are made for us. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  She laughed with a nod of her head. “I suppose. Anyway, I’m ready to get my life back. Even if I end up being a waitress again. My family has been in the serving business for a long time, many generations. No shame in that.” She glimpsed at me beneath the cover of her incredibly long lashes. Natural, I was certain. That was why she seemed so different. She was authentic, with some actual depth.

  “No shame in that at all,” I agreed emphatically. “So, you believe Earl has been cheating on you. You want me to find out if that’s true, so you can make some decisions and forge a better life. Does that sum it up?”

  She smiled. I stopped blinking for a moment. That damn smile was so wide it crossed her entire face.

  She said, “Yes, that’s where I’m at right now.” She sighed, but this one sounded more like relief. “Finally. I have some ideas about how to do this…”

  I was all ears, as much as I could be.

  3

  Rosie walked back into the office, waving a hand in front of her face, wrinkling her nose. It was cute.

  “Sorry about the restrooms. The lug-heads,” I said, waving a hand toward the shop area, “have the bathroom habits of a toddler.”

  She sat in the chair, crossed her legs. Her black-and-white print dress had this little slit up the side. “Thank you for giving me a minute to myself.”

  “No problem. I know you’re struggling with many difficult memories right now.” I sat up in my old chair. It whined like it was about to croak.

  She looked down and then pushed a lock of her hair to the side. It was black and luminous, yet just thrown together on top of her head, as if it were held in place by some gravity-defying force. I could see she was trying to find the right words to say. I picked up a rubber band and twisted it around my finger. When I glanced up at her, the rubber band shot out of my hand, smacking the window. She flinched.

  Damn, her nerves were raw.

  “Sorry about that.” I scooted around the desk and found the rubber band dangling on the corner of a Longhorn window sticker. I snatched it up and shuffled my way back to my chair. “Everything in Austin is all about the university. I’m sure that will never change.” I forced out a chuckle.

  She tried to smile, but it never made it to her eyes.

  “I went to school there for a couple of years, until…well, let’s just say I had a personality conflict with one of my professors.”

  A long nod by me.

  “Copeland,” she said, as if she were speaking to herself.

  I couldn’t hear worth a damn, but I could read lips. And that was the name she’d uttered. Dr. Garrett Copeland had been my nemesis when I was a sophomore at the University of Texas. He made it his life’s mission to give me grief three times a week at eight a.m. He reveled in it. I wasn’t his only target. He seemed to loathe most young people who dared walk into his classroom. Well, anyone who didn’t have an hourglass figure. I could still recall his derisive comments about…everything.

  “Did you take a class with Dr. Copeland?”

  Her eyes fluttered like the wings of a frantic bird. “I, uh…” She looked anxious.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No, I…” She swallowed, let out a gasp.

  “What is it, Rosie?’

  “It’s…” She put a trembling hand to her face. Something had triggered a painful memory.

  “I don’t mean to pry, but if it helps…”

  She opened her lips and closed them, her eyes searching for a safe spot on the floor. Then, she looked up. Her dark eyes were glassy. She held my gaze for a second. I didn’t turn away, but I wasn’t sure whether to press her further.

  “It was the day my life changed forever. Changed who I was, who I’d be…” Her breathing flickered, but there were no tears. I stayed silent, wondering if she’d share more. Part of me hoping she would, part of me hoping she wouldn’t.

  Finally, I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “Rosie, what happened to you?”

  “He…” Another swallow. “He raped me. He and two of his teaching assistants gang-raped me.”

  I could feel blood drain from my head. “Jesus, Rosie. I’m so s
orry.”

  “When I told Earl about it, a switch in him just flipped. He either lost respect for me, or thought I was to blame, or maybe I just became trash to him. I don’t know.”

  Pure sadness engulfed her frame. She locked her arms around her chest, as if they were the only thing keeping her upright.

  “Yo, Oz.” It was Steve, standing at the doorway, wiping his hands on a greasy rag, as usual. “Oh,” he said, doing a double-take on Rosie. “I apologize. Didn’t mean to interrupt important client business.”

  “Steve, can you give us—?”

  “That’s okay.” Rosie blinked tears away. “I’m taking up too much of your time.”

  I raised a hand. “You most certainly are not, Rosie.” I looked to Steve. “Quickly, what’s up?”

  He gritted his teeth. “I know you used to be a lawyer and all—”

  “A lawyer too?” Rosie said.

  “Just an old job.” I looked up to Steve. “What?”

  “Well, I need someone with the right kind of eye to review this contract I have with the city. Technically, I’m leasing this property from them for the next ten years, but now they’re saying they want to rezone this plot of land and turn it into another strip center. Do you know how old that red oak is on the side of the garage?”

  “No idea.” My phone rattled across my desk. I picked it up, just to make sure it wasn’t important. It was. I took the call while Steve rambled on about his contract issues with Rosie.

  A moment later, I ended the call and stood up. “I need to run.”

  “What’s the rush?” Steve said, moving out of the doorway.

  “It’s Mackenzie. Her school called and said they found her under the bleachers, crying.”

  I circled the desk and the piles of crap. Rosie reached out and touched my upper arm. “I hope your daughter is okay.”

  I nodded. “Thanks. Can we get together later and talk some more?”